Who gets to decide?
Feb. 21st, 2007 11:22 amI'm in the fortunate position of having a pretty cool family: my mom and siblings are all nice humans who I like (not to mention love) a lot, and my husband is absolutely amazing.
Everybody in this group knows that (1) I don't want long-term measures taken to keep my vital signs going if I'm no longer conscious....unplug me, dammit, and let the husk go; (2) there isn't any place in particular I want to have the remains interred...let Mike decide where to stick the jar; and (3) don't do the heavy-duty embalming thing or bury me in a $5K casket plush enough that many third world citizens would like to have it as an apartment. Let's be real. A pine box and high heat is just fine.
My family won't be doing a tug-of-war thing with Mike over where it all goes down. If Mike wants to inter my remains in a cemetery or cave or whatever in Massachusetts, that's fine. This is home, after all. (Actually, home is where Mike is.) If someone wants the body for some useful purpose (not including Halloween parties, please), Mike knows that's fine, too. I won't be needing it anymore.
No, I'm not feeling particularly mortal.
I've just read the continuing saga of troubled Anna Nicole Smith's body, and her estranged mother's battle to truck the corpse back to Texas for burial in "the family plot."
And I'm pretty appalled that this woman is insisting that her daughter's wishes shouldn't mean anything here, and that she's dragging this through court while the corpse rots. (And it is literally rotting -- the hearing was, apparently, interrupted by a call from the ME's office saying the body needed to get in the ground by Saturday because of continued deterioration.)
See, if you buy a burial plot near where your home is, this is a pretty good indication that that's where you want to be buried.
Please send this woman packing back to Texas.
Everybody in this group knows that (1) I don't want long-term measures taken to keep my vital signs going if I'm no longer conscious....unplug me, dammit, and let the husk go; (2) there isn't any place in particular I want to have the remains interred...let Mike decide where to stick the jar; and (3) don't do the heavy-duty embalming thing or bury me in a $5K casket plush enough that many third world citizens would like to have it as an apartment. Let's be real. A pine box and high heat is just fine.
My family won't be doing a tug-of-war thing with Mike over where it all goes down. If Mike wants to inter my remains in a cemetery or cave or whatever in Massachusetts, that's fine. This is home, after all. (Actually, home is where Mike is.) If someone wants the body for some useful purpose (not including Halloween parties, please), Mike knows that's fine, too. I won't be needing it anymore.
No, I'm not feeling particularly mortal.
I've just read the continuing saga of troubled Anna Nicole Smith's body, and her estranged mother's battle to truck the corpse back to Texas for burial in "the family plot."
And I'm pretty appalled that this woman is insisting that her daughter's wishes shouldn't mean anything here, and that she's dragging this through court while the corpse rots. (And it is literally rotting -- the hearing was, apparently, interrupted by a call from the ME's office saying the body needed to get in the ground by Saturday because of continued deterioration.)
See, if you buy a burial plot near where your home is, this is a pretty good indication that that's where you want to be buried.
Please send this woman packing back to Texas.